The Forgotten

Not so far in the future...

History and science of evolution has taught the mankind many lessons, at least that's what the written word says. One of the prominent of these is that of survival of the fittest and removal of the weakest. They say when man evolved above its Ape cousin, it dropped many features, that were deemed unnecessary for the new, cleverer creature. Tail was one of those; for man had no apparent use for the tail.

A few centuries ago, the man used to have strong memories. At least that's what a general perception floating around these days is. One of those days, the history books tell, man invented the Computer, and within a few decades it became inseparable part of the man's lifestyle. With this invention, the man surrendered his memory to the machine, and it was not long before that signs of the man losing memory were evident.

Although, we have been successful in partially restoring this God-given gift, we know that the restoration is not complete. The technology is not very advanced in this area, and it's not very uncommon that even on death-bed, after three quarters of treatment, the person finds himself in embarrassing situations, when he cannot remember his name! And that cannot be totally attributed to old-age. We believe the defect has spread into the genes, and via the genes it's spreading, and sustaining itself.

If you are wondering what happened to those machines which have helped man remember and retrieve virtually any data, an answer is due. Before I lose track of the subject, let me provide it to you: Believe me, it's a very depressing answer. We have long lost our saviors. We cannot blame them for our condition today. Once we started losing our memories due to over-use of computer's memory, we soon started forgetting their language, their passwords, and later the technology to create them. It was an embarrassing situation to be in. Absolutely. Whatever records we have today, indicate that the machines could not take up the overwhelming job of remembering more and more things of the ever growing population. And one dark day, they gave up. The disks crashed, overload continued for days together, before the whole system broke down. Although today we do have some precious resources, it is by no means sufficient for us. Thanks to them, we have been able to research our way back out of the mess. Although we are not completely out of it today, it's much better than, say, twenty years, details of which I have obviously forgotten.

Today's world is very different and why wouldn't it be? Once we realize that that we cannot remember even the most important things in life, it is by no means an easy life.

• Industrial productivity is low: people forget to go to work... even a 60% turnout per day is considered over the roof.
• Means of transport hardly run on time (and there are always longer queues for refunds: I wonder how people remember to get their money back for a missed ride)
• People forget to vote their government in or out. Politicians forget their promises, tax-payers forget to pay tax, the state forgets to pay back its subjects any benefits, law-makers need frequent reminders about the prevailing laws.
• Teachers forget to teach, student fail to appear at the exams on time (not that they remember to study at all). If they are lucky, teacher's mistakes cancel out their own, but possibility of that happening is low.
• People find it extremely difficult to communicate for a long time, as they soon lose track of what they are speaking about!
• Artists can no more concentrate on one piece of art for long times, so no great art creations are possible. Critiques and for-no-reason-protesters are having a good time, for nobody remembers what their earlier views were. Ditto with the politicians!
  
• Crime is all over the country. The victims over time forget that they were once cheated. The criminals too forget about the loots or illegal wealth they have accumulated, although this somehow happens rarely.
  
• Interpersonal relationships are difficult to sustain. People forget their identity over time, and perhaps their existence too. Father forgets his own son and the daughter forgets her mother over time.
• People forget decency when it's warranted, and people ignore any sincere calls towards it assuming the speaker is out of his mind: quite usual. They don't co-operate any more. They choose to forget.
  
• People don't and can't trust their memories. Over time, people start questioning their own memories, for they cannot confirm whether those are accurate or not.
• People have forgotten what's right and what's wrong. People have forgotten how to laugh. They have forgotten how to sing. They have forgotten how to love and how not to hate.
  

Don't blame us, but we have almost forgotten what exactly we remember. This is a very grim situation, if not hopeless, that we find ourselves today in, .

It's actually a vicious circle! We have got so much used to memory loss, and we have accepted it for a fact, that we hardly care to put any effort to remember any damn thing.

We are born, we are growing up, we are dying; but all for no cause: we know that nobody will remember us! Not that everybody of the past was worth a mention in the never-ending history of mankind, there would be someone who would remember him. Today, we have lost that hope.

We are like a river, where it started nobody remembers, and where it's headed, nobody cares. We are like the afternoon wind, which doesn't remember how exactly it grew from gentle breeze, and which cannot control its own direction now.

Before I forget, let me conclude my account by saying what we always say to keep this story going. We may have forgotten all the above (whatever that was!), but we still have some hope left. Some hope that will re-ignite the spirits within. One day, we hope, that we will remember who we really are, and lay all this anarchy to rest, and allow me to make my promise, to bury all this chaos somewhere, a place which we will never ever remember again, lest it come back to haunt us.

Ah! At last, I think I have succeeded in completing my narration without loss of much detail.

If you're wondering, in this forgetful world, how I could accomplish that feat?

Well, I am guessing, but I am quite sure that for a while I forgot I was part of this world, and tried to look at ourselves from an outsider's eye!

The Mentalman

Day 1
-=-=-=-=-

As I walked into that incredible room, various voices welcomed me. Those various voices, however, were not legible. To start with, I took them for just, Hi or How are you? type of exclamations, but later I realised they really were not legible.

Dr. Thomas began introducing me with the occupants of the room.

"He is Tony."

"That is Ray."

"And one sitting there is Malcom."

The introductions continued. I do not remember how I greeted them when our eyes met for the first time. Those emotionless, crazy eyes!

"And here we are! He is Warden Smith. Your caretaker."

"Helloo" I managed to say.

Was it a dream? No. It was not. It was finally happening to me then. At first I had shrugged off any possibility of such an impossible thing ever happening to me in my life. But then, who said wishes are always to be granted. This particular one, was certainly not granted anyway. Or at least it seemed like that.

I still was not able to grasp the depth of the situation. It was a wonderful morning in the spring. The trees were re-born with tender green-ness following the rules of nature. Some of the trees I saw were wearing bright yellow flowers on their branches too. But by then, I was already on my way to this place.

That's for the nature - as far as I was concerned, I was a fresh graduate. Raring to take up the challenges of professional life. With nice academic records in my bag, I was certain to get a good job in a well-to-do firm. In short, I was looking forward to life.

As for the fate, it had very different plans chalked up for me. Considering that you believe in what I say, I found myself most unfortunate that I had been declared mentally unfit. How this had happened, and most importantly, why this had happened were the questions drilling holes in my tiny brain. Without getting any traces of logical answer, that is.

I would have been rather better off if they had just marked my mental status with "unfit" stamp and let me alone. But fate had not had enough with me. I was detained my this mental institution and after various tests, they decided to lock me up in the institution for ever. No, not for ever: for as long as it took to cure me.

At this point, I am inclined to quote a cliche, and here it goes - they say, prevention is better than cure. Prevention and cure for what, I do not know.

"What are are your nayems?," was what I could decipher from what the middle-aged person standing next to me was saying.

"Um. I am Peter," I obliged him with my answer. Still thinking if mental illness took toll on grammatical skills.

"Oh. Hello, John!" was all that he had to say to me.

Strange, isn't it? Yes, it is quite strange. But then in this world, there is no law against strangeness. And at the place where I happened to be, I was just too happy to live with such trivial strangeness. Nice start, I wondered, was it?

After the introductions, Dr. Thomas led me to another room where I was introduced to yet another bunch of people. This time they greeted me with my name. I was glad at that.

And then the doctor showed me my bed, and closet. My world had been shrunk to this small place. No more open air! It was not dark altogether, but dark enough to feel sad. I don't quite understand why they can't have pleasant place for people like them, well, people like us, who need the best possible environment for recovery.

Thinking of recovery, I asked my doctor: when I could leave that horrible place.

He smiled, and said, "As soon as you get well, sonny!"

Then and there, I decided to get well : as soon as I could.

But then it was not so simple either. When you know the enemy, you can treat it with due respect and overcome it. I could not see my enemy, or the decease that is. How was I supposed to get well as soon as possible, when I was already well. Illogical, it may sound, but the whole situation I was in was not logical in first place, then why fret over logic!

By the time I had settled- unpacked my bags and arranged them in order, I had a visitor. The fellow from the next bed was very much interested in the things I had brought. Mostly books, and a few photographs, a music player and my favourite pen was all I could bring in. I was still thinking all this was a joke, but did not know would turn out to be a life-changer.

The visitor was awed at seeing books. I thought he had forgotten to read and couldn't see any utility of those. These were mostly classics, I told T. He had told me his name was T, and not D as I had pronounced. After the Peter-John incidence I had decided to be very careful about names.

"What are classics, Peter?," was his question.

I thought this was a very sane question, and said, classics are those which go beyond time. They are remembered and are relevant in almost any era.

"Are we classics also? Will we be remembered for ever?"

"I don't know T, but who knows!"

"I like you Peter, you are different."

I felt better and felt re-assured that I could prove it and get out of that place soon.

"Really?"

"Yeah, you are far worse!" T added, much to my frustration.

I decided I needed to get used to such talk. I decided to expect it, for there was no way of avoiding it.

Noon was the time for lunch. Four O'clock was time for tea and then seven-thirty was the supper, I was told by the warden. The lunch was rather good. But the way it was relished was awful. I am sure the warden had a tough time managing the table. And then I wondered, that was my first day there, and I was getting so much frustrated -- what about the sane warden! I decided I respected him for his patience and diligence towards the work.

At the four O'clock tea gathering, when the guy next to me spilled hot tea on my shirt, I was angry. Why should he take my cup and spill it all over? Fortunately tea was not boiling hot or otherwise I would have taken my anger out on him. I patiently excused myself and washed off the dark brown fluid. By the time I was back on my seat, the guy on left on me decided he had enough of discipline and spilled his own tea on my shirt.

This time I went back, washed off the tea yet again. Upon returning, I filled my cup with the remaining tea in the kettle and emptied the cup on Ray's trousers.

Things like these happened every now and then. The drawing room was never spared of noise, and I could not concentrate on reading. Then I decided to give up reading for the day as it was getting time for dinner anyway.

I was shocked at seeing the same menu for the dinner. Boiled potatoes, something resembling a dilute soup, and bread. And boy, how well we enjoyed it! Guys around me seemed happy about the food, one even asked the warden what the occasion was for the special food! I thought, well, let me enjoy the moment, assuming it was some special occasion. And I did. I even thanked the warden for the good food.

By the end of first day, I thought I had behaved well and scored a few points for myself. Well, unfortunately, I had got all that wrong.

-=-=-=-=-
[to be continued]

Weather

Bangalore is never so hot in the month of May usually (for the past three-four years I have known, that is). It is true that we enjoy conditioned air, sitting in front of the computer, typing an occasional character, sipping nice hot tea, and are mostly unaware of what is happening outside. Sitting inside in such a manner, the only contact to the world is electronically controlled, whether it be the telephone or the internet. It's kind of exciting and at the same time, bit disappointing for me.

People have weather forecast tickers/banners on their websites, which are getting updated by the passing hour. I prefer looking out of the window once in a while. And when the Bangalore weather changes, I know it, kind of sixth sense tells me that.

The moods, like the weather are changing- fluctuating might be an appropriate word. There are tensions, frustrations, pressures, and what not, which, as they say, is part of the game. But nothing pleases me more than walking down the staircase, with sort of tired mind and a thirst of hot coffee to restore the mood, and then I see that it's dark outside. Not because it is late, but because the clouds are gathered covering the fiery Sun. Suddenly, the mind takes a leap, things fall in place, and even before the hot coffee pleases my taste-buds, my mood is restored. The life seems as easy and cheerful as ever.

And I decide to write about it straightaway!

Such is the power of weather...

Wrong Number

The newspapers these days have been running interesting stories. Well, that is after all their function anyway. But then, what matters is that I have been finding them interesting.

There is one on increase in population of hyenas in the forests of Africa, and its cause-effect analysis. Cause-effect is pertaining to the overall ecological system of the forest, the food-chain and what not. They seem to have their own correspondent placed at strategic location in Africa, who seems to be enjoying his stay there. At least it seems so going by the quality of articles he has been sending.

But all that is besides the point.

It was just to get started with this story. You may call it a real story, for such things aren't likely to happen in fictional stories. You will agree with that as we come to the end of it. Of course the introduction has played its part, and the newspaper per se has some part to play in the story. So it was not a waste of time by any means.

It all started (and ended too) on a lovely Saturday afternoon. It was a fine day in March, with the spring coming of age. A bright sunny day was on its decline after a wonderful innings on the field. I had a rather late lunch and was relaxing on my couch, trying to give my new idea a new shape - why? Of course to write my next story.

After a certain time, I realised that this idea was not worth persuing on such a lovely Saturday afternoon and slowly started to delete it from my memory. Physical things around you help to do this, believe me.

As I was halfway through this procedure, I saw the newspaper lying around. This was a good sign- I was finally able to come back to the real world. I picked it up and started to glance through the pages. Today, being Saturday, the newspaper did not carry my favourite African article. Instead it had an apparently urgent crime report published. Doesn't matter. By the time the last of my mediocre ideas about the next stories were out of my mind, I was already halfway through this crime report.

It was a bit shocking and frightening too. One serial killer was out. Yes, he was out there somewhere, planning murders without any reasons. At least that's what the newspaper report said. I have never understood how could a murder have a reason behind it? To me it was all mindless, ruthless, beastly thing. But that's besides the point: there was absolutely no motive behind these murders, no money stolen, no family revenges, no gangsters either. It was plain ruthless case of a series of murders. As is the case with most of the serial killings (they are called serial killings because it is not done parallely - it's done one at a time), there was one common factor though. This factor alone was able to prove that these murders were a part of the same chain, and related in a pretty strange way.

In all those murders (I forget the exact number now, but it was an alarming number), the victim was shot dead from a distance, and the victim seemed to have written down a number on a paper before he was shot. It was an eight digit number, and obviously, was different in all the cases. And one more thing, all the victims died when they were answering a phone call. A novice sleuth would conclude that the murderer has used the technique of a surprise attack - calling the victim, asking him to write down a certain number and shooting him dead once he has done writing it.

It really was a series of killings, as the numbers written down had a definite relationship. The number written down found to be the telephone number of the next victim. The table on the left carried all these numbers. Quite interesting, I noted, as I glanced through the numbers.

They had traced the 'last calls' made to the victim, and found out that the calls were made from different telephone numbers - all were traced to public phones at various area of this huge city. A dead-lock there too, I thought.

I hate crime. And I hate injustice too. I wish there were no crimes and criminals, so that we wouldn't have the embarrassment of injustice. Sadly, the real world can not be in exact accordance with your wishes, doesn't matter how divine your thoughts are. Maybe that's why I have taken to this profession of writing. That was a nice thought - and I decided to write about it next time around. For the time being this article was just too interesting to let go and start writing.

Another characteristic common to all these murder cases was that they were all carried out on a Saturday afternoon. Well, this was curious. And that particular day being a Saturday, I was all the more curious.

TRING... TRING...

TRING... TRING...

The moment my telephone rang, I was filled with a strange emotion - half fear and half anxiety. I knew it would just vanish once I pick up the call, but it was worth enjoying that emotion.

"Hello?"

"Hello. Eh, yeah, please take down this number---"

"WHAT?"

"I said, please take down this number..."

I had carried the newspaper with me to the telephone. Now I started looking at the table on the left where the phone numbers associated with the serial killings were listed. I wished I had read the table completely before, as the last number there was not my number. Thank God!

"Yeah, please tell me the number-" with the greatest hope, I managed this sentence.

"blah-blah-blah-blah"

"blah-blah-blah-blah"

"OK"

I don't remember what happened next, but it was painful. I thought something somewhere on my body was burning. Something sharp and hot had obviously pierced my body, and it was drilling further and further.

It was the last sensation I guess, before I lost contact with the world.

Well, as it turned out, it was for a finite time. When I woke up, I was lying on a bed, with a worried looking nurse trying to check my pulse. My opening of eyes was pretty much to her relief. I thought I was doing quite well. Fairly well, as I was still alive.

After a day or two, I was questioned by all sorts of police officers and reporters and detectives and all those agencies. Apparently I had the most crucial clue and a vital part to play.

---

How did it all happen? If my phone number was not on the list, why did I get such a nasty call, and the bullet after that?

And how come the killings stopped after that. I must say that I was very fortunate not to have lost my life.

One theory goes like this - the killer probably had given a wrong number to the last victim or probably the victim had made a mistake in noting it down. The police had obviously been alert with the next number and had installed tight security around the next potential victim's house.

The case with me was a bit different, I did not actually note the number down on paper, but I remember it as if it was my identity.

And that number was, well, the phone number of the very first victim.

---
What happened next is, well, history. The serial killer was never found, but fortunately, the series was broken. There were no more murders ever after.

Yes, and fortunately, no more wrong-number calls too.

Heaven

"Oh, welcome! When did you come up?"

"Thanks. Only yesterday. This place is wonderful- or should I say, heavenly?"

"Was it painful?"

"Oh no, not really. I was in sleep then."

"Well, I envy you. It was bloody in my case."

"I am so sorry..."

"Boy! You don't say that when you are in heaven."

Another Fifty Five

Shantanu told me:

I overheard in a journey,

"SHIT. There he was, standing outside the house, with a .33 in his hand- took aim and fired!"

"Yeah, and she was in pool of blood, died immediately..."

"then what happened?"

I held my breath,

"End of episode one!"

I couldn't help but smile.

And me too!


---

I have borrowed this story from Shantanu (PopKnAs, Ustaad), who told me this sometime ago in the spacious hall of the C Mess, IISc. It's his story really, I just managed to put it in 55 words. Thanks ustaad!

Fifty Five

When I was asked to write a story such that the total number of words in it had to be equal to fifty-five and no more or no less, I gave it a thought, took out my favourite pen and wrote this : "I Hope nobody bothers to count the number of words in this story".

---
For better 55-stories, visit Gaurav's blog.

Schoolbus

"I'll come over to your place tomorrow. We'll play something"

"Have you done your homework?"

"I am scared of her. She is so strict!"

"Ye! Tomorrow's a holiday!"

"Open the window - let the droplets come inside na!"

"Did you notice Driver uncle's new shoes? It's Nike he says."

"My mom is stronger than yours. Want to bet?"

"I have brought some extra chalks today ;)"

"Shall I take out the ball? We'll play here itself"

"See my new pencil box? Better than yours!"

My day starts like this. Everybody is speaking one thing or the other to somebody.

Mom wakes me up so early you know. And before I have come to my senses, I have already taken bath, had some breakfast and have said "bye-bye" to Papa. I am already in the school bus!

I like the bright blue coloured bus. The longer it takes to reach our school better I like it. It is brand new. Our school purchased two brand new buses last year. I was lucky to get this one. It does make some frightening sounds when it starts, but our Driver Uncle takes good care of it.

Our Driver Uncle is cool. He is quite a driver. I am sure he is not getting any opportunities to drive real fast around the streets here. But in my dreams I always see him driving FAST. I am so thrilled you know. And then he is always so kind. he gives me tips : what a brake means, and what a power steering could do and so on. He is a genius. He wears a ferrari cap :) He makes us laugh. He is my hero! Real Hero.

My buddies in the bus are always chattering. Shouting, muttering, chatting (my English teacher could tell you all the right verbs), and is a cheerful crowd. You would not believe when I'll tell you that we play football in the bus! And sometimes golf also. We have our own rival teams (the players keep switching sides however). The girls also take part in a game someday and sometimes win also. But mostly they try to complete the homework or try to teach a chapter or two to a dumbo like me. I never do my homework in the bus. I either do it at home or don't do at all. They can catch my bad handwriting if I do it in the bus. Bus is not for doing homework. It's for fun. And what fun we have always had! I wish there was a bus ride even on holiday. This would make it even more enjoyable - we would just return from the school : no classes that day.

Some days I don't want to be a part of the bus. I just want to keep quiet and watch the crowd on the street or the endless chaos inside the bus. Sometimes I just observe Driver Uncle in his seat, trying to find a way out of this crazy traffic. Papa says it is even worse in some other parts of the city. He is a man of patience. He would never show aggression nor frustration. You won't believe he has just driven for half an hour on a road : if you'll subtract the traffic, you will find that it will take five minutes for that drive.

Simple maths. Our maths teacher is very nice. I want to do some real maths like she does in her mind when she solves the problems on the board. I want to build a castle in our small garden. Oh and those small beetles : they need some attention once I go back home. Mom is going to teach me how to arrange flowers in a great fashion. Today I'll get her do that. Or shall I just sleep for the entire afternoon?

I think about so many things such as these.

I observe the traffic on the road, which is not at all moving. Not that I mind the delay to school, I feel bad for the people traveling like this. I see the corporate buses. Brilliant people : my mom says I must study hard to become a big person. Not that I want to become a real big person, but that would sound simply good. One day I'll be traveling in such buses!

I pity them. They just seem to be so serious and boring. No fun. I think school bus is the best ride I'll ever get : it's so energetic and cheerful. We are kings of the seats around here. And look at them : all brilliant and what, they don't even seem to be speaking with one another, let alone have fun. Can they beat us in a school-bus football match? No way. I sometimes think I am more brilliant than them. Can they tell all the spellings of the words teacher taught us yesterday? Or can they make a paperboat? I don't think so. I know how to make a paperboat. I know more than one ways to be more precise. I can climb on a tree. I can throw a stone farther than anyone else in our class, I'll show when you'll come with me to the lake. If growing up means turning into people like this I don't want to grow up. No I don't want to go through all this. Surely, this is not my cup of tea. (I don't drink tea anyway, my mom won't let me till I grow up!)

" :):):) see what I pasted on back of his shirt :):) hahahaha"

" Uncle Uncle, faster faster!"

"Oh no. MOMMY! by tiffin box got opened up in my bag"

"How do you dare take my pencil"

"This diwali vacation we are going to sea, you know"

"How much you got in the maths test?"

"GOAL! GOAL!! 2-1 now"

I return to the collective chaos and feel better.

Fish Market

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"I love fish. They are so tasty." :: "No. I won't give it for 20! Not by any means" :: "TRING TRING. Oye, can't you see my cycle is coming your way?"

"? What are you doing? Aye mister. If you love fish, you love your fish, not mine." :: "Last week I had it for 15. Damn this inflation." :: "Hey ride carefully. Do you think this road belongs to your cycle?"

"Is it fresh?" :: "You try coming again last week. I'll give it for less then." :: "Get out of my way I say. Or I'll run over you".

"It is dead" :: "OK. Last call, 18??" :: "Buy two get a half free! BUY TWO GET A HALF FREE"

"Oh, I never knew people could prefer live fish, so foolish of mine" :: "On my deathbed. No 18 till I die" :: "Grrrr. Grrr. bhok BHOK"

"Can you drive that dog off? It gives me an unhealthy feeling around here" :: "Are you sure you won't give it for 18? You insist on 18 or above?" :: "By Fish God, these fishermen are crazy!"

"That's your problem, this is not hospital. Now will you tell me which fish you want?" :: "HELLO. It is not a dog. He is my Moti.":: "Excuse me, WHAT? Ever heard of a fishmarket where you can get Codliver oil?"

"Swordfish." :: "Above 18. That's for sure" :: "Yeah. Codliver oil. Rich in Vitamin 'A', I guess"

"WHAT? You are wasting my time." :: "OK 20 it is then. I'll take that one" :: "Must be. We don't sell it here. Try a petrol pump. Sir what do you want?"

"Forget it. That one, surmai, and yes, I want a dead one. I can't kill this cold blooded animal myself" :: "I'll pack it for you. Where are the black bags?":: "You selfish Shellfish, why didn't you bring one for me as well?"

"Is this your first outing to the market or something?" :: "And where is my balance? Hey, I lost my balance!" :: "He he he! That clown came finding Nemo."

"No. I love fish." :: "I love the Fish Market." :: "Hey who mixed the saltwater and freshwater fish here? Buy TWO GET ONE FREE"

"You told me that already" :: "Here, here is the balance money: 30 Rs sir." :: "They did themselves. :: "Hmm. You remember there was a movie by name of Free Willy?"

"Surmai is 45 Rs. (Lets see how much you love my fish)" : "Yeah. Thanks. Hope next time I get a better bargain." :: "Yeah there were two : Free Willy part one and Free Willy part two."

"I love fish. Here, 45 Rs" :: "Seven surmai for me. Here." :: "TRING TRING. Get out of my way I say"

"You remember that nursery rhyme? Jack anf gill went up the hill?" :: "Something fishy here. You need to return 27 Rs. You gave 19" :: "Today's special. We are having fisht at home"

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Possessed

(1)

I was not a great believer in magic or supernatural powers, either. But I was a curious follower of such topics, for they were worth a chat or a story for that matter. But no more now. I have given this enough thought.

(2)
The day didn't possess any extra ordinary qualities to describe of. I was through with my evening walk, and when I reached the Maidan on my way back, I found myself gazing at a "Annual Convention of The Possessed" banner. Now this was very strange. There have been conventions of Sadhus, of Barbers, of Gardeners, of Plumbers, I have seen laughter clubs, joggers' clubs, but this bowled me over. "Annual Convention of The Possessed"! Wow, that was something.

Was I already possessed by this fact? I was not sure, but I changed my direction of my walk, and followed the arrow that took me towards the entrance. They had built up a huge pendal. Was I really eligible to enter? I was pondering on this, when I saw a few people making their enquiries at the registration desk.

When one does not know the directions, one should ask directions to at least a help-desk. I remembered my preaching, and walked towards the desk.

"Do I need to prove that I am possessed? What if I do not want to disclose my superpowers to you?", I heard the short fellow asking to the lady at the desk.

"well, sir, say one more sentence please", the lady was busy processing this request.

"I know what you are thinking!", the fellow shouted back.

After typing some keys on the computer in front, she politely said, "You are registered, sir, please follow these arrows to reach the convention centre".

I was amused at all this, still not ready to believe what I had just seen.

"Excuse me, I don't think I am eligible to register for the convention, yet I would like to know about all this business", I said.

"Well, Mr. Oke, I know that", (the pronunciation was just accurate), "In that case you need to register as a visitor", she smiled at me.

I was stunned.

"OK", was all that I managed to answer.

"Here, fill this agreement, and you could walk in...", she handed me a bunch of papers and a pen.
I guess it was some kind of NDA. Even if I would disclose everything I saw around here, nobody would have believed anyway. Yet, as a formality I filled in the form.

"Sir, please fill in your correct e-mail ID", she pointed out to the ID which I had deliberately filled incorrectly.

"Nah-nah. No cheating", she once again smiled at me.

I knew there was no point in hiding anything, and after this formality, I was ushered in with an escort, who suddenly seemed eager to show me around. I hoped he did not possess I-know-what-you-know powers. He looked at me curiously.

"A lot of our people visit the convention every year. This is the first time, a non-possessed person has shown such an interest. We keep it low-profile matter, you know", I didn't quite believe him.

"Yeah, I guess, but how do you know---"

"See there? He is Mrs Bharati. She is our telepathy specialist. She manages our world-wide communications team", he cut my sentence midway.

"Oh, I didn't know", I was really impressed. I was trying to gather any invisible waves of announcements, but to no avail.

"And Mr Smith, there, he is our security head", I was amused. I was trying to figure out why this name sounded to familiar.

"We need to keep so many secrets you know!", he added.

I could not figure out if they wanted to keep all this secret, why did they allow me in!

"So what do you do? I mean where do you work?", I asked a general question.

"Oh, I work for the organisation itself. As a matter of fact, here everybody work for the organisation", he said, before adding, "there is no choice as such".

"But how about your bread and butter?", I had my query.

"We are possessed. If one is possessed, one doesn't have to bother about food any more.", he smiled. "But now things may change. You'll find out soon" he added under his breath.

"But how?", I couldn't believe him.

"Let's go to the auditorium", he neglected my second question.

I had no choice but to follow him. In a way, I was possessed too. There was so much to grasp, and then to analyse, that I could hardly keep up with the facts. The auditorium was almost full when we walked in, and people were still coming in. Surprisingly, nobody seemed to have a conversation with anybody. The communications team apparently had set up a huge telepathy network.

I had my own doubts : should I believe in all this crap? What exactly is this community up to? Suddenly I found myself being stared at by my neighbours. I was not sure if the expressions on their faces were friendly.

The seminars began soon, or at least I could see the foils being changed rapidly. There was no question of anything being heard. I got bored soon, and was about to ask my escort if I could leave, when he snapped his finger,

"See, now you have to introduce yourself", he pointed to the next foil.

The foil read, in bold, black letters,

"New entry : Mr A N Oke"
"Education : so-and-so"
"Date of joining : today"

I was suddenly awake, and before I could think how to react, I heard people saying, "Welcome aboard Mr Oke". I was not sure if I heard them right.

I pinched myself, this couldn't possibly be true. I had my own life, and was least interested in all this possessed stuff. Neither did I believe in all that nor would I allow anybody to convince me in believing. I just wanted to shut down everything and walk away.

"No way now, you know as much as we know", I heard a female thought this time.

"And it is really fun. The community is a nice, calm place to be in." An older thought added.
"What do you think of all this?", someone asked.

"I don't know what to think. I just want to escape", I thought loudly.

"Well, it's too late for that. You are now connected. Wherever you go, the network will follow you", the tone was firm, almost threatening.

I needed a thought filter badly. I couldn't hear my thoughts in all this loud conversation. I seemed to be lost in thought.

The head-ache was so acute that I almost failed to notice that my escort was suddenly joyous and started following the arrows to the exit.

And that's how I was possessed too. This is my story. What I will not tell you is that how I escaped from all this.

Perhaps you will find it out, when you are possessed too. Now if you heard my thoughts clear and loud, you can see that there is no choice but to join the community. It is real : everything is real here.
(3)
I now clearly remember the joy and relief on my escort's face. I try not to hide a similar expression on my face and jog towards the exit in triumph.

The Intersecting Lines

This is a story of two young people, whose lives happened to cross at a point, nothing more and nothing less.

He was in the search of the meaning of his life; as any other human being, in his early twenties. He had the talent, hailed by the society, but he himself wasn't confident of accepting it. He yearned for more, more of what he did not know. He asked questions such as he himself could never answer. He did not know where the life would take him, and for that matter, did not even care. Sometimes, he found himself trapped in the web that he himself had woven, inadvertently. The people around him noticed, praised and talked of him. And he quietly enjoyed the talk, always wondering all this is for who?

She was a youthful bud. Free as in Freedom. Swift as a cloud on a windy day. Fluent were her thoughts as the turbulent blue waters of a stream in the forest. Bright was she as the sunshine on a day in March. And how beautiful!

It wouldn't be odd if they met one fine day. But until and unless that actually happened, sentences such as those would be meaningless. What would such two people find in common? Appreciation for one another! Strange are never the ways of fate, that they happened to meet one day. Out of the blue. And later, they laughed over the matter of their first meeting, for they couldn't make out why they had to meet.

Some things do not have any explanation. And some things do not need one.

The life continued its own course. Changing a bit here and there for the conveniences of these two. They spoke of many things. Of ideals, of socialism, of books and of songs. Of rainbows, of fireflies, of sand-dunes, of stars they spoke. If it ever came to his mind, he never spoke of the puzzle that was consuming very much of his processing power. And she never thought so much about it anyway. The time was spinning its wheel, and perhaps his mind was being freed by her. She, life's perfect admirer, could appreciate and accelerate the talents he had so far kept buried within himself (for no reason whatsoever). And he was aware of that. He, on the other hand could simply be amazed by the reach of her mind, the depth of her thoughts, the heights of her imaginations. He knew he had found the meaning, finally.

There were long dialogues exchanged, funny things debated and laughed at heartily. The others around them continued to enjoy what these two were offering them : joy! The weathers changed, the moon continued with its 15-day tours, the clouds came at the times expected and the rains poured sooner. The flowers never missed the blooming season. Everything about everything was just too perfect. Including these two.

One may be forced to think that perhaps, then, these two were made for each other. But that's a different story. That may happen in some other story, but not in this one. And that is not the point of the story after all.

The greatest adventure that life is, it miraculously brings out so uncountably many straight lines, some parallel, some intersecting, some short, some ever lengthening. And a few merge and become one after a certain point. Many meaningless lines never intersect, not that they are parallel but such a crossing never happens. And then there is no definition of parting for such lines too.

The geometry of life is not so straightforward.

The merry weather continued all the same. The stars shone on them and the moon cleared any darkness that was left in him. Time continued. Joys overflowed. Breeze hummed, and trees swayed. And after such a wonderful length of time, the two lines departed. For no reason, as there was no reason for there meeting. Without any emotion that can be described as sadness. Without shedding any drop of tear, without bidding any goodbyes. Without any promises of meeting again. Perhaps, life simply and cruelly turned its attention to another such pair of unrelated lines.

It is probably not so important how these two lines fared later, but what is important is the point they left on each other's paths. A line may be made up of infinite points, but not all of them can be so privileged as those of the intersection. Intersection, such as this.

Indeed, the geometry of life is not so straightforward. But then it is not pointless as well!

The Open Window

(1)

The road to my office went through this wonderful colony of flower-clad trees. These flowers were the first beautiful thing I saw out of the Open Window of the bus that carries me to the office everyday. This place, though not so far from my house, certainly took some extra energy and enthusiasm to visit it on a Sunday. I compulsorily took Sundays off from the heap of work that always awaited me at the office.

The extra energy and enthusiasm, however, was not altogether rare; and I found myself walking to this place on many Sundays.

The Sunday which I'll draw your attention to, was one overflowing with energy - it was my birthday!

The day broke bright and sunny. After a heavy breakfast, I started walking towards the garden. It was peak of spring and of the blossom as well.

I came to this particular crossroad and as I did everyday, I looked up to the Open Window of a bungalow at the right. I was dead bored to see the same face looking out of the Open Window - everyday, without fail I used to see this face when our office-bus stopped at the red at the crossroad. The expression on that broad face never changed - the face would never be blank, but anxiety and curiosity always filled it. I had always thought much about this mysterious face, always looking out of the Open Window-- had even thought of visiting that bungalow to quench my curiosity, but never had actually done it. Should I do it today? I wondered and again looked back to the Open Window - to my surprise, the face was not there! I almost let out a cry, and---

(2)

This had been my favourite pastime of all. To stand at the Open Window, and look outside. I saw the life moving at its pace, the weather changing when it's time for it to change. I could see everything. The life outside amused me the most. I enjoyed looking out of the Open Window. But the particular Sunday, to which I'll draw your attention to, was not altogether cheerful.

I had always observed my company bus traveling to the office - I always took the next bus, about half an hour later. And I always was surprised to find a broad face looking to me through the Open Window of the bus - the same seat, everyday! The expression never changed - it was filled with so much of curiosity and maybe, a trace of anxiety. About the work lying ahead in the office? Maybe. Then I started seeing this face even on Sundays, not regular on Sundays, though. I was curious enough to go down and ask this fellow what he found so amazing in my face, that he should always take a look at me the first thing in the morning? But I actually never did so. This Sunday I thought I should go down and ask him. I may even make a new friend, I thought. But it was not to be. I looked back to him again, with a smile on my face, and---

(3)

---and before I could realise, the big reckless truck was upon me. I glanced at the Open Window, the face was back. He smiled - and I remember - I returned the smile, and as far as I remember, it was the end of the world for me at that instant.

(4)

I should have taken care before the truck ran over me -the very instant when I remembered this experience of mine. But how could I, for I had actually seen the accident take place when I was standing at the Open Window. I wish if only I had known better not to look towards the Open Window...

(5)

Or I should have shouted a desparate warning to him, so that I could have avoided the mishap...

Infinity

(1)

In my humble opinion (if it counts at all) I am an ordinary person. I know many things but that's not it. I can do many things. But so what? Many can do a lot of wonderful things. I can think. And there is no dearth of great thinkers among us. Who are they to decide if someone is great or not? Are they really ordinary? And obviously, who are they to decide if people are ordinary also? Are they the extra ordinary people? Every person is a mine of gold. He may not have realised the value of it; but sooner or later he will. What of it if I have found it (if that's what you want to observe). That doesnot mean much for me.

In my humble opinion, I am an ordinary person, and I expect to remain so.

I know I have a knack of doing things differently. And a passion for doing a lot of things. But that I have learnt from the fellows around me. I was not born with that, it's the life around me that has polished the coal. And surprisingly enough, they have found it to be gold. I will not underestimate myself, though. For I know what I know. And I know what I don't know.

Let's keep it at that. Thank you.

(2)

He is a renowned scientist, a philosopher, an artist par excellence, truly, a genius. There are some living miracles- those who when touch anything, the thing turns to gold. He is one of those rare species on Earth. You will struggle to find a topic about which he can't speak, or can't direct to a person, his friend, who can. He has led people to great laurels, he has revitalised so many lives, and he continues to do so. Relentlessly. People of this world write to him, and to their surprise, he replies to them : in their own language! His words soothing, comforting and encouraging, as fresh as ever.

Conflicts between the greatest of men is so common! Given this, there being so many great characters around, it is simply amazing that all of them agree upon a single statement : He is without any doubt, the world leader of today. Maybe the people are putting so great a burden of expectations on Him, that I shudder at the thought of his failing to stand up to it. But that doesn't happen. And I believe a failure could never happen with Him.

(3)

After His emotional address to the people of this world, it just got confirmed that infinity less infinity is still infinity!

He and She

This is the story of He and She.

He, not unexpectedly, was poor once upon a time but is financially stable as of today. She, quite expectedly, is sufficiently beautiful to keep the reader's interest in the story alive. And His interest as well.

Quite naturally, they meet: where else, but in the college. He, being risen from the poor background, has to borrow books, borrow class-notes for he would miss the classes often because of having to work hard in this cruel world to earn his roti and ghee: you know what I mean. She is inclined to have sympathy towards him, she has never known poverty (I doubt if she can spell "poverty" correctly), and tries to help Him as much as she can; and as much as he would allow.

It is not long before they realise there is something more than just helping friendship between them. And as should happen in all stories, they finally fall in love. The days suddenly become brighter. Everything comes there way. He finishes his studies with flying colours and doesn't forget to mention Her contribution (both class-notes and books, besides all the moral support) to his success. He even recites the old saying of, "behind every successful man...". And she is just too happy for Him. She also passes out with excellent ranks and instead of helping her mother in the household activities, decides to take up a job. No, not a teacher's job, but a job in an MNC.

He knows His responsibilities towards His mother and younger sister: she has already found a caring boy for herself. So it may seem that the End is approaching; even without an entry of a villain. Sorry, there is no villain in the story, for the villain is also well settled in the story- he knows better than to trouble the Hero and does even better to avoid his fall. So it is now left for Him to climb the ladders of success in terms of money in His life. And to nobody's surprise, (not even to the reader's I guess) he does exceptionally well in His job. Suddenly, gone are the days of sorrow and poverty. There is happiness in the air. The long love between He and She continues without any third party arriving in their lives. After His sister's marriage, they decide to get married soon. Their families, to the lovers' relief agree to their wedding without slightest of trouble. Mom-Dad and maa even congratulate the couple on having spared them the tasks of looking for daamaad and bahu respectively. And finally they get married on a full moon's day!

Now the reader may be wondering what the hell is left in the story of He and She? They may be right, for there is no hell left in the story; but a slight hurdle, though, remains.

He has bought a small piece of land on the shores of the Deep Sea. He has grown quite rich and he decides to gift her with a wonderful beach-land clad in silver sand and cordoned by tall trees.
He decides to stun them all by announcing this on her birthday (I'll not reveal Her age, on Her special request). Both He and She then leave for the Beach of their dreams the very evening. Early morning they bring their car to halt near the sea, and almost run towards the gushing, shining waters. As they approach their piece of land, he excuses Himself for a while (maybe He has more surprises in the small cottage He has built for themselves.) And goes inside. When he comes out, he can't believe his eyes. He finds that there is a great hurdle now lying in front of the cottage between Him and the sea-shore where she is enjoying the morning breeze. "Pray, what is your name?", He asks the Hurdle, "Anjaanaa" comes the reply. He shouts His question to Her, "Dear, have you ever known, this Hurdle here, called Anjaanaa?". She is as puzzled as a student before the examination panel. And she answers accordingly, "No, honey, never have known it". Anyways, the rest is history, and they actually live happily ever after till the end of their days.

And thus the story has come to the end. Now's the time ripe for a song, which if the reader is still around, will be amused to hear. And maybe the mystery behind the Hurdle could be revealed.
So let's sing together,

"tere mere beach mein

oho oho oho

tere mere beach mein

kaisaa hein yeh bandhan Anjaanaa!

tune nahin jaanaa - maine nahi jaanaa

kaisaa hein yeh bandhan Anjaanaa!"

---

The End

The ambulance

(1)

The whole evening it was raining. The streets were flooded with the muddy water that ran in no sensible direction. I clearly remember that particular evening, and that particular incidence.

"husssshhh, calm down. It's nothing. It'll be over soon."

An unknown face was trying to comfort me. I found myself lying flat on the stiff ambulance stretcher. I couldn't believe it. A while ago, I was riding happily to my place, almost riding on the clouds. The breeze was cool. The spring was in its full blossom. I could sense the jolly mood taking me over. And now I lay there, not knowing what suddenly transformed my cheerful world into this gloomy vehicle, -oh and and that deafening thunderstorm. Painful. But just why am I here? I felt as fit as ever. Nothing seemed out of place, except for the situation I was in. I was thinking clearly, so I concluded at least my brain was fine. I could move my limbs, I even tried too hard to move once and the attendant almost shouted at me. Or was I dead? I guess, I was little dizzy from such a bizarre incidence. The ambulance slowed down at the crossroads. From the wet, twinkling window, I could see that actually, there were no roads! In fact we all were flying. The time also was flying! Literally. I had finally met my fate finally, I thought. I thought that was the end of it. I was no more. But clearly, there was more to it. As I was hurried to the operation theatre...then what happened I can't remember, for I don't know.

When I remembered this incidence, the next minute, if not the next second, the alarm broke the silence...

(2)

As I remember this story, I feel better. For such things could be possible. And I may even escape this situation. Here I am lying on the stretcher of a speeding ambulance. The rain pouring down outside, beating hard on the street. Yes, even the attendant is trying to soothe me.

"husssshhh, calm down. It's nothing. It'll be over soon." didn't he say so, just a while back? My belief in the story is only strengthened by minute. Should I try to move my limbs for once? I try to look out of the window - what was the word that described the window? yes- "twinkling". Now I know why that exact expression was used. Do I feel dizzy? I am not quite sure, for I have never felt so in my life before. Oh, the ambulance is slowing down. As I look out, I fail to recollect what to expect. What are they going to do now? Going to rush me to the operation theatre? Am I getting that void feeling? Just as was described in the story? Or is there really something more to it? Hoping for the story that I have lived so far, to be true, I wait for the alarm to go off!

And precisely at that instant, one dreadful fact strikes me hard. All the hopes die. I know it : such stories cannot be true. Not that one corner of my mind was skeptical about strange stories becoming true, yet I could not give up hope. Besides, there was nothing else for me to believe in. I know it's all over.

The alarm cannot go off.

For I remember that I have forgotten to set it before sleep got better of me yesterday night!

(3)

It's really strange that I find myself thinking about this strange story. In such terrible situations? Can anyone imagine thinking about writing in an ambulance? But I do. As they rush me to the hospital, I think furiously. Thoughts crowd over my imaginary skies. I have written so many strange stories, involving strange incidences, why not make the most out of the situation I am living this very second? And I do precisely that thing. I complete it in my thoughts and decide to pen it down the first thing after the surgery that surely is going to take place once we reach the hospital...

The Unsung Hero

I always like to ride slowly along that road. Especially after a heavy breakfast. Like all the roads around here, this one is also well covered by lush green branches of tall, grandfatherly tress. And the trees are now in full blosom. The weather was ideal for a nice leisurely ride and I was all go for it. I like to ride my bicycle with hands taken off the handle and mind concentrated on all heavenly things except for the material matters happening around the street. But this particular day was an exception.

The morning had started to lose its cool charm and had almost surrendered to the blazing sun. An ideal weather for the game of cricket, I was wondering. As I approached the small ground near the primary school, I was not at all surprised to find a vociferous group of youngs enjoying the game of cricket. I was in no great hurry and further slowed down. The game must have reached a decisive situation for everyone was very sincere about everything concerned with the game.

And then I witnessed something that I will always feel lucky for my presence there at that moment. Well, for people who are not cricketingly inclined, I would describe it as a fantastic catch that won one of the sides their match and the story ends then and there. But I just can't leave it at that. That was the most exquisite of an atheletic movement made by a human which I have watched happen right there in front of my eyes.

The ball was firmly struck. Firmly enough to bring the batsman well-deserved four runs for the worth of the shot. But destiny had something else on its mind. I would not describe it as an impossible feat; but that doesn't take away any credit from the little fellow who took the catch. The Little Fellow, in a desparate attempt for his team flung himself in the air and how! His body parallel to the earth, eyes stuck on the motion of the cherry and mind possessed by the desire to achieve - he was all set for the big prize. Everyone was struck with awe for a moment, even the crows on the trees paused their meaningless chatter I guess. And then the ball was in his outstretched hands the next moment. It was done!

His mates pounced upon him and their world was full of cheers and hurrays. Sweet is the sensation of achievement, isn't it?

If I had a hat on, I would have thrown it in the air myself. My eyes twinkled with a great, inexplicable joy. I looked around me. Unfortunately nobody seemed to have noticed what had happened in that split moment. Everything was in its place. The crows continued with their unfinished business. Auot-rikshaw continued along its path spitting out greyish, unhealthy smoke. Ladies walking hastily only raised their eyebrows pretty much in disagreement with the increased level of noise from the field. A middle-aged woman, with her back to all the cricket action, finished watering her lillies and went inside her house.

The moment of great deed went unsung by the material world. I continued peddling my way along the street...

I received a strong feedback this afternoon that I should not completely switch to marathi for the blogs..As far as possible I'll try to translate my important posts, but again, who gets to decide which ones are important, is an important question ;-)
The Other World
Got up this morning -- and in front of the mirror I realised that the teeth I was brushing did not look familiar anymore -- let alone the teeth, my hand was not so friendly to me

Awoke this morning to that harsh alarm -- astonished to find it was just five O'clock -- just too early for me -- couldn't believe my eyes -- well how could I ? -- I was not seeing things bright and clear -- what's that thing called? yeah - a lens, where is that?

Breakfast has never been my cup of tea - but today, bread tasted so sweet - and so did the corn-flakes - Oh no, not that same old discussion - the tongue didn't feel like mine - neither did the senses !

After continued efforts and a slight strain to 'my' eyes, finally I started with the rituals -- WOW - I never ever thought that milk tasted so brilliant! And bananas - heaven !!

Just to kill time, got hold of a newspaper - And found blasts, homicides and what not..all bloody stuff - Those rascals will never learn - enough is enough, now the world needs a dictator --- whhhhatt? what did I say ? excuse me..there has been a mistake - a big mistake !

Oh pity those all-red pictures... why is there so much of violence in the world?? Can't they work out some real peaceful pacts ?? Oh, wait a sec - Am 'I' really speaking that - How did my ideologies change so drastically ? ummm??

hmm..I think I am getting close to the answer, well, is this a dream ?? OUCH.. I pinched me like anything ...

OK, let me think logically, I think I am understanding this mess, I am not what I think I am, but if not, who am I?

Yeah, right, now I get this, I think, I am not what I am in reality right now, this 'me' is a fellow I used see in my dreams - no, I am sure of it now!

How much I tried to change, and I wanted the change so badly... And then there has been this magic! no more efforts required!

But now why am I getting this awkward feeling? I have not quite liked this change.. Me of yesterday was better I think, but then if it were true, why was I dreaming for such a change?

They say grass is always greener on the other side, well it may be true.. but who knows, I may start feeling that this is not what I wanted after all, Or will I get those dreadful dreams of becoming someone I used to be earlier?

Now I recall - all those minute details, yeah, I used to see some more things in that dream... Oh and I couldn't stand the scream of "No more Recursion, please, please!!". and I would come out of my sleep!

Now I recall - all those minute details, yeah, I used to see some more things in that dream... Oh and I couldn't stand the scream of "No more Recursion, please, please!!". and I would come out of my sleep!

Woke up this morning, quite fresh, as never before... Such a wonderful morning... thank God, I didn't get that horrible dream tonight -- and what a relief!

Got up this morning..a dream-like morning I would say.. I am feeling so fresh, Can I count such beautiful mornings I have experienced before ? Two or three maybe ??